


Little Spider

by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crack Treated Seriously, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Oral Sex, Peter is 22, Spoiled Peter, billionaire Tony, but seriously it isn't gory I'm too weak for that, gratuitous use of pet names and PDA, hitman peter, lowkey sociopath Peter, on-screen murder but nothing too gory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/stfustucky
Summary: Peter Parker is one of the country's best hitmen, known in the underworld as the Little Spider. He spends his days in the lap of luxury with his billionaire fiance Tony Stark, and his nights doing dirty work for various shady characters. Life is good, right up until someone puts out a hit on Tony and wants Peter to pull the trigger. It... might be time for them to have a talk.Starker Bingo 2019 fill - Hitman falls in love with his target





	Little Spider

The first time Peter Parker killed, it was for revenge.

His uncle had been murdered right before his eyes, and he, at the ripe old age of ten, had been unable to do anything to stop it. So he had gone into the seedy places of the city and found someone to teach him how to never be powerless again.

She called herself the Black Widow, and she took Peter into her web and taught him how to make the night fear him instead of the other way around. It was six years before she told him that he was ready. Less than six hours later, Peter was slithering silently through an air vent with the blood of his uncle's killer drenching his clothing, leaving a gruesome trail of victory behind him. The Widow had wiped the tears from his cheeks and kissed his forehead and told him that he had done well. 

The first time Peter killed because someone else told him to, it was for money. 

Word got around to him --in the slithering, surreptitious way that news always seemed to travel in the underworld-- that someone was looking to make an enemy of theirs disappear and they were willing to pay handsomely to have that happen. Peter had long ago left his humanity in an alleyway with his uncle's body, So he didn't think it would do him any harm to send one more soul on its way. He did better this time than he had the first, and there was no smear of blood in the elevator shaft for the detectives to follow that night. They called him the Little Spider now.

He had a code. Not everyone in this line of work did, but when you were the best, like Peter was, you could afford to have a code. No kids, no pregnant women. Double the price if you want it to look like an accident. He did everything clean, no torture or rape or kidnapping or anything like that. He went in quick and silent and merciful and did what needed to be done, and that was that.

Nowadays, though, he didn't do it for money. He had plenty of that, now that he was marrying a billionaire. These days, when Peter killed, it was for fun.

_ Technically _ it was still for money, since he was still getting paid to perform hits at the instructions of Sherwood Demmy, one of the underworld's biggest and baddest baddies, but that wasn't why. He could have stopped at any time, if it weren't for the fact that he so thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of stalking his target, infiltrating every aspect of their life before figuring out the perfect way to end it. There was a type of power in that which Peter never managed to find anywhere else, and so he kept taking jobs even when the pay got so pointless that half the time he forgot to deposit the checks.

His fiance Tony had no idea, of course. As far as he knew, Peter was an amateur photographer. Every so often Peter would take the jet and dart off to some random city, and Peter told Tony that it was wherever inspiration took him. He didn't need to know that Peter preferred to fly private because no one checked his bags, and that was a thoroughly awkward affair for someone whose carry-on typically included six or seven various murder weapons.

No, Tony didn't need to see that part of Peter's life. Maybe he would be horrified. Maybe he wouldn't mind. Peter certainly liked to think that Tony loved him enough to accept him even if he could see how red Peter's hands were. But when you love someone the way that Peter Parker loved Tony Stark, that wasn't the kind of risk you could take.

He'd keep that dark corner of himself locked up tight and live in the sunlight instead. It was a nice place to be. Tony could be here with him, climbing on to Peter's deck chair and laying on his legs like an overgrown cat so he could nuzzle his face into Peter's stomach.

"You're blocking my sun," Peter complained, but idly, petting Tony's hair fondly as he did so. "I didn't come to Miami to get pale legs."

"Your legs are perfect," Tony hummed, moving his hand to rest atop one of them, his thumb smoothing over that warm, muscled thigh. "And you came to Miami for a pre-honeymoon, so it would really be very rude of you to neglect me while on it."

"So me letting you fuck me three times this morning before we even made it out of bed and onto the beach, that was neglect?" Peter laughed, petting Tony's shoulders and back now. "That wasn't enough for you?"

"Never enough," Tony fired back, and maybe another time those words would be him trying to start something. But here, stretched out in the sun on a private beach with margaritas in their system and naps on their mind, Peter just giggled it away.

"How many vacations can we go on under the title 'pre-honeymoon' before people start calling bullshit, anyways?" Peter mused. "In Rome it sounded reasonable. Cairo was pushing it. Now things are getting out of hand."

Tony lifted his head and propped his chin on Peter's belly button, looking up at him with eyes concealed by heavily tinted geometric frames. "You know, you could just hurry up and marry me already, and then we could do a proper honeymoon."

Peter tapped the tip of Tony's nose with one finger. "Planning a wedding takes time, don't rush me."

"I could hire a wedding planner."

"Don't you dare. I was promised free reign and an unlimited budget when you snuck a ring on this finger," Peter said firmly, smiling fondly at the memory.

Tony's weight was heavy on him, and Peter suspected he was slipping toward that nap sooner rather than later. He didn't seem to have the energy to pursue the long-familiar argument. "Whatever you want, baby," he murmured, resting his head on Peter's stomach once more.

Peter petted his hair contentedly for a few more minutes, until the buzz of his phone on the chair next to him --Tony's chair, theoretically-- called him from his sun-drunk reverie. He took one look at the number on the screen, ended the call, and nudged Tony with his knee. "Baby, let me up," he said gently, continuing to wiggle his legs until Tony climbed off him with a grumble. "I gotta pee, I'll be back in a few," he told Tony. Tony collapsed once more and snored in response.

Phone in hand, Peter picked his way down the beach. It was a private stretch of sand, so no one else was around, and Peter made sure Tony was well out of earshot before he called back the number.

"Little Spider," answered the voice on the other end. "It's not often that I am sent to voicemail."

"New experiences are good for you, Sherwood," Peter drawled. "What can I do for you today?"

"I've got someone I'd like you to… have a conversation with," Demmy said, letting the sass go unchecked. He usually did. He knew better than to push the Little Spider's buttons. "I'd love it if I could get a face-to-face with him myself, but I know that isn't your style," he sighed. "So I'll just have to settle for your usual services. Normal price, if you please."

No need to go to the trouble of a carefully staged accident, then. Peter nodded to himself, picking up a pale pink seashell from the surf near his toes. He could give it to Tony, and Tony would probably think it was charming and keep it in his wallet forever or something stupid like that. He was such a sap. "Sure, not a problem. You got a name for me?"

"Tony Stark."

Pre-honeymoon number 3 might as well have been in Antarctica, because suddenly Peter's veins were filled with ice. "That's a hell of a conversation," he managed to force his mouth to say, just a beat too late.

"I didn't realize you were in the business of editorializing my business practices," Demmy said sharply. "Is this going to be a problem, Little Spider? If you aren't up to the task, I have other phone calls to make."

"Don't bother," Peter said at once, heart still pounding. "No need to look further than me. I know just where to find him."

"Excellent. A pleasure as always."

Demmy disconnected the line, and Peter tucked the phone into the pocket of his swim trunks as he made his way back to Tony. He walked slower than usual, heart and footsteps heavy as he considered what terrible thing he had to do next.

And there he was, the love of Peter's life, sprawled on the deck deck chair --still Peter’s, because Tony was a dick-- fast asleep. He was soft and vulnerable in sleep, so open and trusting, knowing Peter was the only one there with him and that Peter could never hurt a fly.

What a foolish thing to be so sure of.

There was a knife buried in the sand beneath Peter's chair, placed there this morning because he was nothing if not a well-prepared man. Peter dug it up now, crouched close to Tony's sleeping form, his hands scooping away sand until the knife's handle was exposed and he could pull it from the hole and lift it, glinting, into the light. Tony's back rose and fell, unprotected, just inches away from Peter's hands as he turned the knife--

\--and dropped it into his tote bag, carefully covering it with a towel and throwing their water bottles and the spray can of sunscreen on top. He leaned forward and kissed Tony's shoulderblade. "I'm hungry," he said softly as Tony stirred, "let's order some room service."

Peter tried not to let the determined set of his jaw be too obvious. It was time for him and his intended to have a long talk.

…………………

An hour later they were curled up beside one another in bed, an array of empty dishes stacked on the cart beside them. Tony was licking the last remnants of a slice of cheesecake off of his fork. "God, I love vacations."

"I love  _ you," _ Peter responded ridiculously, all on instinct.

"And I love you more," Tony answered with a wink, unbothered by the shift in topic. "You and me, baby, till death do us part."

Well there was a hell of a segue.

"About that," Peter said carefully, "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

Tony, bless his heart, had the gall to look heartbroken for an instant. "Is there a problem? Is it too soon to get married? God, of course it's too soon, you're only 22, I knew I pushed too fast--"

"Relax, Tony, the wedding is still on," Peter assured him. "I'm still a hundred percent positive that I wanna be your husband. It's just…" Peter hesitated, taking Tony's hand to reassure himself now. "There's something I should tell you about myself before then."

"Okay," Tony said slowly, then paused. "Can I take a guess?"

"No."

"Are you already married?"

"Oh my God, no."

"Do you have a secret hoard of bastard children that I’ll have to write into my will?"

"I'm extremely gay, Tony. I don't even top."

"Are you a Nazi?"

"What the fuck, how could you even say that?" Peter rolled his eyes. "Nice to know you think I'm some sort of evil person. No, I'm just a hitman."

Tony, instead of gasping or shouting or leaping up off the bed as Peter had expected, simply rolled his eyes right back at him. "You're such an asshole, Peter. Here I was half worried that you actually had to talk to me about something serious. I should have known you were just trying to troll me."

"I am serious," Peter insisted with a sigh. "I've been a contract killer for longer than you've known me. You know that I grew up hard. I needed money, and I had a certain set of skills, so I put them to good use. Plus, it's kind of fun."

"Yeah, baby, I know all about your special skills," Tony grinned, setting aside his dessert plate so he could grab Peter around the waist and haul him into Tony's lap. "Master deep throater, expert seductress, and world renowned at riding me until I see stars. You are deadly indeed."

"Fine, don't believe me," Peter huffed. He twined his fingers in the short hair at the nape of Tony neck. "I need to fly to Seattle tonight, though, for some business."

Tony frowned. "You want to cut short our vacation--"

_ "Pre-honeymoon." _

"--our  _ pre-honeymoon _ in Miami and go to Seattle instead?"

"No, I  _ have _ to go to Seattle because of important matters relating to my career as a hitman."

Tony threw his hands up in defeat. "Okay, whatever, be mysterious, if you want Seattle then I'll call the pilot right now. Just don't start whining to me when you figure out that Seattle is cold and rainy and you made the wrong choice."

"Just make the call, Tony."

"As soon as you hand me my phone, muffin."

………………… 

Peter didn't bother trying to convince Tony of the truth anymore after that. Tony was too blindly trusting, too sweetly naive to accept the possibility that Peter was anything but an angel. Peter didn't have the time to break down a belief system so deeply ingrained. He had more important things to focus on, like eliminating this threat to the family he was trying to start.

He couldn't simply turn down the job, because Demmy would simply find someone else to do it. Not to mention the fact that by refusing to do the job himself, Peter would also paint a target on his own back. The only way to stop a hit was to stop the person putting up the money. Otherwise he and Tony would spend the rest of their lives on the run or in hiding trying to avoid a bullet in the skull.

Which was not to say that Peter wouldn't do that for Tony if necessary, but he'd like to explore some other options first. He was sort of attached to his lifestyle as a billionaire's boy.

They arrived in Seattle late that night and Tony sweet talked his way into --you guessed it-- a  _ honeymoon _ suite at one of the nicest hotels in the city. The accommodations were, as always, beautiful and luxurious, but Peter couldn't appreciate them. He was more focused on writing Plans B through Z in his head. Hopefully he wouldn't need them, since he thought Plan A was pretty genius, but Peter would not have survived a decade living on the streets if he weren't a little overly cautious.

He dragged Tony out first thing in the morning, eager to get this over with. Tony, trusting thing that he was, didn't even ask any questions. He did put up a little fuss when Peter told him they couldn't stop for coffee on the way, but his irritation was quickly soothed with a kiss.

Their destination was a large yet unimposing home in the downtown area, the gate of which was manned by no less than six heavily armed thugs. Not that the average person walking by would be able to tell they were armed to the teeth just by looking at them, though. It would take eyes as keen as Peter's to be able to make out the telltale wrinkles and lumps in their clothing to be weapons concealed beneath.

Peter pulled Tony into the access alley behind a restaurant a few blocks away. “Do you trust me?” he asked Tony.

“Wholeheartedly,” Tony foolishly answered.

“Enough to go along with a harebrained scheme without questioning me?” Peter withdrew a hand from his pocket, a pair of handcuffs dangling from one fingertip.

Tony's face split into a grin. “Handcuffs? Why sweetheart, you've been holding out on me.”

“You're a horndog, I hope you know that,” Peter told him with a roll of his eyes. “Are you in or not?”

“I am  _ absolutely _ in,” Tony answered firmly. “A little confused about the choice of venue, but very much in. Are those for you or for me?”

“They're going on you. Put your hands behind your back.”

Now Tony's eyes eyebrows did rise. “Seriously? I feel like I'm about to see a whole new side of you.”

“Darling, you have no idea,” Peter mumbled as he fastened the cuffs around Tony's wrists.

They walked the remaining few blocks to Demmy’s house with Tony confused but compliant and Peter holding onto Tony's elbow in a way that gave him a firm grip without making it obvious to any pedestrians that something shady was happening here. All of the guards, who had been lounging on pieces of furniture attempting to look casual, straightened their spines as Peter deliberately approached with Tony in tow.

“Stop there,” one said when Peter was ten feet or so from the gate. “What's your business here?”

Peter could feel Tony tense up in confusion, but he didn't speak. He probably thought this was some sort of roleplay, the kinky bastard. “I'm here to see Demmy,” Peter said simply.

“You don't have an appointment,” one of the others said.

“No, but he’ll want to see me anyways. Tell him that the Little Spider has had a change of heart and has brought him someone that he might be interested in speaking to.”

The guards looked at Tony carefully, then seemed to think that Peter was serious enough to warrant relaying the message. It was a wise decision. Plan G included something about if Peter was denied admission to the estate, but it was one of the messier letters of the alphabet here.

Someone made a phone call, muttering a synopsis of Peter's arrival and words, and then they were being ushered inside. As they walked, Tony leaned down a little and whispered into Peter's ear, “What exactly is all this? Those guys don't look very friendly.”

“Don't worry, Tony, I've got it all under control,” Peter replied, patting one of Tony's handcuffed arms.

As Peter expected, the message granted him an immediate audience with Demmy, who rose from his desk as Peter and Tony entered the room with a delighted smile and a clap of his hands. “Spider, friend, you always know how to keep me on my toes,” he declared, reaching out like he was going to shake Peter's hand.

Peter ignored the offering. He was busy surveying the one other person in the room, Demmy’s second in command. He was being eyed suspiciously in return.

Demmy didn’t seem bothered by the rudeness. “And you, Mr. Stark, lovely to meet you.”

Tony frowned at the man. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“No, pardon me, how rude, of course you don't. I'm just the man who's going to buy out your company when you're dead.”

A brief silence followed before Tony regained his composure with that classic Stark charm. “Well, buddy, long term goals are important.”

“Not so long term, now that you've been delivered to my doorstep. I can't imagine that arranging the merger will take more than, what, three months?” Demmy smiled wolfishly. “Of course, I'm assuming that it won't take long for you to start spilling your proprietary secrets when my people start cutting off your fingers one by one. Unless you would like the honors, of course, Little Spider. Tell me, how deep does it go, this change of heart you've experienced?”

Peter watched all of the color drain out of Tony's face as terror took over, and decided that had been quite enough foreplay. He pulled his favorite handgun from its resting place at the small of Peter’s back and pointed it squarely at Demmy’s chest, cocking it ominously as he went. Another slid from between Peter’s shoulderblades to aim at the other adversary. “It's a pretty goddamn big policy change,” Peter answered. “Yeah, this little scenario right here? It's over.”

“How dare you pull a gun on me in my own home--” Demmy started to bluster.

“I dare,” Peter informed him coldly, “because you are nothing but a worm who has to get others to do your dirty work for you. You can't hurt me. Nor can you threaten me, and you certainly can’t threaten the people that I love.”

Understanding dawned in Demmy’s eyes, and he flicked them back and forth between Peter and Tony. “This isn't just another job for you,” he said slowly. “You have a connection with Stark. That's why you don't want to kill him. Fine, have it your way. I’ll get someone else to do what you can't.”

“And that,” Peter sighed, “is exactly why you have to die.”

He didn't allow Demmy any time to argue. He simply shifted his aim so that he was looking down the barrel of one gun at the point between Demmy’s eyes, exhaled steadily, and pulled the trigger.

Tony dropped to the ground as soon as the gunshot went off, going down as gracelessly thanks to the handcuffs as Demmy did due to being a corpse. Peter couldn’t spare him any concern at the moment, though. “Ah ah ah!” he said to Demmy’s second, who looked like he was thinking about pulling a weapon of his own. “That would be super dumb. You don’t wanna be super dumb when I’ve got a gun pointed at you, do you? No? Smart man. Put all your weapons on the desk.”

The man --Boshart, was it?-- obliged, pulling various guns and knives and even a rather adorable little mini taser from various pockets and holsters until he was unarmed. Peter took all of them and swept them into a trash can he found off to one side, then tied up the bag and tossed it into the far corner of the room where it would take more time for Boshart to get into then it would for Peter to drop him. He kept the taser, though. That thing was downright precious.

That threat neutralized, Peter shot Boshart a very clear  _ stay there _ glare and knelt to gather up Tony in his arms and help him to his feet. He was shaking from head to toe as Peter pulled out the handcuff key and released his wrists. “Hey, pumpkin,” he said soothingly. “Are you alright?”

Tony seemed to be fixated on Peter’s mouth, and kept glancing between it and Peter’s eyes as he spoke. “You just shot that guy,” he said, as if Peter might have missed that.

“Well I wasn’t going to let him threaten us,” Peter blithely replied. “Listen, I’ve been struggling, trying to think of something to get you as a wedding present. Any interest in taking over a criminal organization in Seattle, because that would be something fun and unique-- no? You sure? Okay, hang on a second then.”

Peter kissed Tony’s cheek, then turned away from him and stalked forward until he was almost chest to chest with Boshart, if it weren’t for the fact that he was nearly a foot shorter than the hulking figure. Even as he looked down at Peter, Boshart had the sense to look afraid. “What do you want from me?” he whispered, looking haunted.

“Nothing, really,” Peter shrugged, reaching out to toy with Boshart’s tie. He wondered if Boshart understood the impressive breadth of ways he could use that thin strip of silk to kill him.“Except for you to leave us the fuck alone. Tony Stark is off limits. I am off limits. If I see you or any of your crew again, or even so much as hear a rumor about either of our names coming out of your mouth, so help me God I will rise from the ashes and reconsider my rule about torture. I've always wondered how much force it takes to yank out a fingernail.” He reached up with the barrel of the gun he used to shoot Demmy, still hot from firing, and used it to sweep a stray lock of hair off of Boshart’s forehead. “That’s not so much to ask, is it? Am I understood?"

He didn’t get a response for a long moment, and then Peter understood why as he smelled the distinct, unpleasant scent of urine. Looking down, he saw a wet spot forming on the front of Boshart’s pants. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter said sourly, wrinkling his nose. “We’re leaving now. Don’t try anything stupid, because I’m trying very hard not to traumatize my fiance any more today and I’m getting the impression he’s not too keen on watching murders.”

Tony was definitely a little green as Peter led him out of the room and out of the house. No one bothered them. No one even looked at them, averting their eyes respectfully as Peter passed. The gates were opened for him and together they strolled off the property into the happy midday bustle of downtown Seattle.

Peter took them to a little park, stopping along the way to buy them two ice cream cones from a cart. Ice cream was just the sort of bright and cheery thing Tony needed to recover from what he’d seen. They wound up on a bench in a secluded stand of trees, Peter munching happily on his cone while Tony’s melted onto the grass as he sat and stared dazedly off into the middle distance.

He still hadn’t touched his ice cream by the time that Peter had finished his, so Peter took that as a cue to take it from Tony and toss it in the bushes for some lucky ants to find and enjoy. Wasteful, but whatever. “You alright in there?” he asked tentatively, nudging Tony’s shoulder with his own.

Tony turned to him, and was staring at the corner of Peter’s mouth again. “ You killed that man.” He looked back at Peter’s eyes. Then his mouth.

“I did, yes.” Eyes.

“He wanted to kill me.” Mouth.

“Very much so.” Eyes.

“You… work with him, killing people.” Mouth.

“Worked, past tense. Not just because he’s dead, but also because I think it’s time for a new hobby. Retirement at 22 sounds very impressive.” Eyes.

“That’s… nice. Yeah, sounds good.” Mouth.

“Tony, I get the feeling you’re distracted,” Peter mused. “You wanna be a little more subtle when you stare at my mouth, maybe?”

“I-- it’s just--”

“That’s alright, baby, I understand,” cooed Peter, sliding off the bench with sudden inspiration. “You’ve had quite a shock today. Nothing quite feels real. You’re probably having a hard time accepting that what you saw today was still your sweet little Peter. Right?” Tony made a strangled noise in response. Peter wasn’t sure whether it was a positive noise or not, but he moved his hand to squeeze at Tony’s crotch through his pants anyways. “That’s okay. I’ll remind you who I am. Want me to take a little stress away for you?”

Tony just blinked at him and jerked his head a little in what might have been a nod, and that was good enough for Peter.

Tony’s cock was still soft when Peter took it into his mouth, which was a new sensation --considering Tony usually got at least a  _ little _ hard just from Peter entering a room-- but hey, trauma and whatnot. Peter could be patient. It only made him that much more determined to make Tony feel good, to bring him out of his shock and back to the present and remind him that Peter was still the same loving, devoted man he’d been yesterday.

Eventually Tony responded to Peter’s mouth, and he seemed to jolt back into his body as Peter worked him over. “My sweet boy,” he panted, thrusting a little into Peter’s throat. “Taking care of business. Protecting me. You’re something else, you know that? I fucking love you.”

Peter’s mouth was too full for him to answer, so he did his best to show rather than tell Tony just how ardently he loved him back.

When Tony came a few minutes later, fucking into Peter’s mouth, Peter happily swallowed it all. “Feel better?” he asked Tony as he tucked his softened length back into his boxers and got him all buttoned and zipped.

“I need a drink,” Tony said, still a little dazed but with eyes that actually seemed able to focus on Peter now. “And I’d really like for us to get out of this park before we get arrested for indecency. But first, there’s uh-- something on your face.”

“What am I, an amateur?” scoffed Peter. “I know I didn’t spill any of your come. I’m better than that.”

“It’s-- well, it’s not come,” Tony winced. “It’s… uh, look for yourself.”

Tony handed over his phone, open to the selfie camera, and Peter looked at his own image with surprise as he saw a spray of blood splatter on one cheek near his mouth. Well, that explained all of Tony’s staring. And the ice cream cart guy. And those handful of pedestrians. And also why Boshart had pissed himself. Whoops.

“Gross,” Peter scowled, handing Tony back his phone and stealing his pocket square instead. Wetting the fabric with the bottle of water he’d purchased along with their ice cream, he handed the cloth back to Tony with a hopeful expression. “Can you get it for me?”

He knew he must be quite a sight from Tony’s angle, on his knees in the grass in a public park with blood on his face and his lips red from Tony’s cock. Tony had to blink a few times before he nodded, taking the pocket square and swiping the damp fabric gently across Peter’s cheek until his sins were wiped clean. “There, all better,” he said quietly.

Peter stood quietly and pulled Tony with him so that he could wrap his arms around the man’s waist and hide away in the safety of his chest. “Are we okay?” he asked lowly, afraid of the answer.

But Tony just returned the embrace and kissed the top of Peter’s head oh so tenderly. “I can’t imagine ever not loving you,” he murmured into the soft brown hair. “I could never stop. Not even for something like this. So yeah, we’re okay. Or we’re gonna be.”

“I’m really fucking glad to hear that,” Peter whispered, tears prickling his eyes.

“Can’t shake me that easy, Little Spider,” Tony laughed breathily. “‘Til death do us part.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was so much fun to write, y'all, gimme all the confident sugarbaby Peter. And with an extra splash of murder?? OOF
> 
> stfustucky | tumblr


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